


Working 9 to 5

by LazyBaker



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comeplay, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Office Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-21
Updated: 2017-05-21
Packaged: 2018-11-03 09:31:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10964475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyBaker/pseuds/LazyBaker
Summary: Credence Barebone is Percival Graves' personal assistant.





	Working 9 to 5

**Author's Note:**

> I did post a Credence/Graves secretary au, but for various reasons, deleted it. I love the trope too much to not write it again (and again) so here we are (again).
> 
>  **warning:** this is not a traditionally ‘healthy’ relationship and it is not trying to be a traditionally ‘healthy’ relationship.

Credence was two hours late when he finally made it to the MACUSA Building, holding his ID up at the security guards as he rushed to catch the elevator that was just about to shut, earning him glares from the occupants of the overcrowded carriage as they shuffled to make room. He spent the first few stops catching his breath and wringing his hands together. Graves’ office was on the top floor. 

His anxiety was flaring up in such an ugly, bad way that he was on the cusp of having a panic attack and he could not afford to succumb to one right now. 

He stared at the highlighted buttons to the right of him. Seven more floors to stop before he would be on his own and no longer squished, counting his breaths which came easier as the carriage emptied out and the fifth floor became the eighth and the eighth became the twelfth. Almost there.

After a lifetime full of them, it was easier now to ignore the odd stares he was getting—confused looks at his less than professional disheveled appearance, which he tried to correct in vain with a few pats at his hair and at his shirt, sweat making the material stick to him unkindly and causing his hair to go in every direction or maybe they all knew he was _Mr. Graves’_ PA and being late was not something _Mr. Graves’ PA_ was meant to do and should he not be ashamed?

Finally the carriage was empty except for himself and he had only three more floors to wait and then he was striding quickly down the hall, through a set of double glass doors to his desk.

Graves’ office was nearly as big as the entire floor, if Credence dropped a pen it could be heard on the other side, echoing for minutes. Wall to wall clean modern lines that aired on the side of the industrial, with pristine white tile which was cleaned and waxed weekly and shined brightly from the lighting overhead and the sunshine coming in from the floor to ceiling windows along every wall, even along the far wall which separated the waiting area where Credence’s work space was and Graves’ actual office. 

It was an intimidating space, one he was still not quite used to. 

His relief was brief, his heart sinking when he saw the blinds to Graves’ office had been shut, cutting Credence off from Graves completely.

 _He was upset._ Of course. It made sense. Who was Credence to be two hours and—he checked his watch—twenty-three minutes late. It was absurd. 

For all the typos and mistakes in his paperwork and the faux pas he made towards the clients, this would be the most damning of things Credence had done. He would be fired. He _should_ be fired.

As quietly as he could, he crossed the room, tiptoeing to avoid making a sound and set his bag on his desk and crept to the nearest window that made up Graves’ office walls. He pressed his ear against it. Knowing Graves’ schedule for the week by heart, today would be his monthly meeting with Theseus Scamander.

There was the low rumbling of the two men talking, a burst of laughter that made Credence’s belly flutter nervously, and then the unmistakable sound of two sets of footsteps approaching the door.

Credence flung himself into his chair in three large strides, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the black of his computer screen. A small leafy twig was tangled in his hair that he had somehow overlooked before. He tugged it out along with a few strands of hair and threw it under his desk missing the waste bin as the door to Graves’ office opened.

— 

Credence had met Theseus twice in his three months of working for Graves. He was a broad shouldered man, a whole foot taller than Credence, with a delightful British accent who always smiled at Credence before Graves would usher him into then out of his office.

Behind Theseus was Graves who looked at Credence with neither anger or worry, simply just looked at him with that indifferent stare before looking over his shoulder, at the cityscape behind Credence. It should have been expected, but Credence’s polite office-smile drooped.

“You remember my PA, Credence.” Graves said.

“Of course I do. I could never forget a face like that.” Theseus said, shaking Credence’s hand. Big and freckled and just a slight bit too hard for him. “I hope old Percy isn’t giving you a hard time. And if he is, you have my number.”

“None of that.” Graves said, warning him.

Theseus pouted, an endearing expression on someone so large. “I was just about to ask if he’d ever been to London.”

“I’ll have you banned from the building, Theseus.” Graves said, gesturing to the double glass doors. “Out.”

“He’s a grown boy, Percy.”

“I won’t say it twice.”

“I don’t know why I keep coming back every month for this abuse.” Theseus said. He turned to Credence. “He’s a bit grumpy today, might need his afternoon snack.” 

With that, Theseus grabbed Credence’s hand and kissed his knuckles, laughing all the way to the exit at Graves’ smoldering silence and Credence’s pink complexion as the many implications bounced wildly in his head as Theseus’ raucous laughter 

Graves rubbed at his temples, walking to the windows just beside Credence’s desk, his shoulders stiff. He was meticulous in how he gave nothing away, no clue for Credence to follow or any lifeline to grab hold of. He was left to wait in silence.

This close Credence could pick up on the dark, woodsy scent of his cologne that brought with it warmth and a very particular full bodied heat that trampled through Credence’s nerves, fighting with his anxiety.

“Ten minutes,” was all Graves said, eyes fixed to the skyline.

—

Graves had shut the door behind himself, leaving Credence to, most likely, grow fretful and upset in the limbo his absence caused.

For five of those minutes Credence did worry at his lip, staring at the double oak doors as knots tied themselves in his stomach. He then logged into his computer and went about replying to a few emails, determined to be productive and make something of his time with one eye on the clock. 

When he had only one minute left he knocked on Graves’ door and waited for the ‘ _come in_ ’ to go inside.

Graves sat at his desk—an antique made of solid redwood that had been his father’s— framed handsomely by the bright golden mid-morning light of the day. He had taken off his suit jacket, waistcoat, and tie, and was left in only his crisp white shirt, his sleeves rolled up, showing his muscular dark haired arms. Credence’s steps faltered.

On his desk was a half full decanter of whiskey and one empty matching glass tumbler beside it. Knowing what was wanted of him, with his head down to avoid meeting Graves’ eyes, Credence went and uncorked the whiskey, pouring Graves three fingers with no ice. His customary drink, though it had been weeks since Credence had had to pour him one this early in the day.

His hand shook and a bit of whiskey spilled onto the desk. The apology was on the tip of Credence’s tongue when Graves set his hand over Credence’s, stilling his nervous fingers and together they set the decanter back down onto the desk. 

Graves did not drink the whiskey. Didn’t even reach out to touch the glass. Credence could feel his eyes on him, a steady hard gaze that he was unable to meet despite wanting to, as if he owed Graves some form of rolling over and showing him his vulnerable belly.

The quiet between them grew strained, a steady climb to the unbearable type of silence that had Credence fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve.

When Graves spoke, his voice was soft. “I’m not going to fire you,” he said. “Tell me why you’re late.”

Stammering at first, Credence said, “My neighbor. Ms. Esposito—“

“—Credence.” Graves stopped him sternly. “Are you talking to your shoes or to me?”

Credence shook himself, straightening his back. Nerves were a tough thing to shake, but he tried again and again. He made eye contact with Graves’ upper lip which was pulled into a stern thin line, already a five o’clock shadow had grown.

He started again.

“My neighbor, Ms. Esposito, had cut herself on accident.” 

She had been preparing for her big weekly dinner with her large family of sons and daughters and grandchildren, filling the entire apartment building with rich scents that would make Credence’s stomach growl in hunger. She had a habit of giving Credence a big tupperware full of whatever she was cooking. It was one of the better parts of living in that crumbling apartment building. That and the cheap rent. 

“There was a lot of blood and it took more than forty minutes before an ambulance came and then I—I had to shower again.” Credence trailed off. If he had been someone who did not have a past full of experience with blood—his own and other foster kids’—he would have likely fainted at the sight of Ms. Esposito on the floor, yelling for him.

Then, after she had been driven off to the hospital, he had missed his stop on the subway twice and had had to run the last few blocks.

“That’s a good reason to be late.” Graves said after a lengthy pause, gaze going from indifferent to something a little less stern. Possibly even a bit proud, which Credence could not handle to even think. “With such a good reason, I have to wonder why you didn’t call. Or text. Or anything.”

“My phone, it got caught in the mess, sir.” Slipped from his pocket and smashed under his foot as he went to grab Ms. Esposito’s landline.

“Unfortunate.”

Credence swallowed thickly. “Yes, sir.”

Graves tapped his finger to his lips and leaned back in his chair as he gave Credence the once over, looking him up and down from his shoes which he had cleaned in a hurry as they were his only nice pair, to his hair which was certainly still unkempt. 

Deciding on some final judgment, Graves crooked his finger for Credence to come closer, which immediately caused Credence to flush brightly and thoroughly, almost demurring, but too eager not to follow where Graves pointed. He moved to stand between Graves’ spread legs, careful not to bump his knees against Graves’ thighs—thick and muscular, pulling at the fabric as he flexed slightly. He took a moment to enjoy the subtle uptick in warmth at Graves’ more intimate body heat.

The first touch was always electric and had every muscle in Credence’s body tense and melt. Graves put his hands on Credence’s slim hips, his fingers wrapped around him to dig into Credence’s fleshy backside, easily pulling a soft whine from him. 

“Did you do what I asked?” Graves said, his familiar tone telling Credence all he needed as a shiver ran up and down his spine, leaving him prematurely breathless. 

He nodded, eyes sliding shut.

“Show me.”

Graves pulled away, hands falling from Credence, leaving him to sway closer and rediscover some semblance of footing.

His hands began to shake, this time with eagerness and anxiousness to redeem himself. This path Graves was leading him down was familiar. One that would feel good and leave him aching and spent and the nuns of his church horrified.

Credence unbuckled his pants, pulling his fly down and with the shyness he had been born with and would undoubtedly retain for the rest of his years, he paused as heat bloomed inside of him and then with little ceremony shoved his pants and underwear down to his thighs. His shirt long enough to hang around his hips, but did hardly anything to hide his erection which bobbed freely, wet and pink and moments from dripping onto the fine pure white rug which covered the floor.

Graves gripped at the chair arms, leaning back to see all of Credence’s length. He pointed to his shirt. “Up.”

There was no room for modesty in here and Credence liked it more than he thought he would. 

Credence bunched the hem of his shirt in his fists and lifted it exposing his shaven navel, cock, and balls to Graves and the cold of the room.

—

On his way home last night he had stopped at a drug store he had never been to before and bought a pack of women’s razors, vanilla scented shaving cream, and, with a quick afterthought to his savings, a bottle of plain lube. The cashier had not blinked despite Credence’s blushing.

He had shoved the small paper bag away and had left it in his backpack by the door as he worked up the nerve to go through with it despite knowing that he would. Graves told him to, which meant he would and he would, invariably, enjoy it.

He read the directions on the razors and the shaving cream first. Then he looked up the best ways to shave _down there_ on his phone, unwilling to knick himself when he could know better. Eventually, after a solid hour of research, he could no longer avoid it. 

Steeling himself, he filled the biggest bowl he had with water and then showered. He shaved his legs first, getting used to the new handle of the razor, and then with more embarrassment than he had anticipated, he angled the hand held mirror he had borrowed just for this to shave away his pubic hair.

Throughout the process, with the sometimes rough glide of the razor and handling himself as he thought of Graves, Credence had grown hard. When he was done, he coated his fingers in the lube, spread his legs wide and fucked himself in front of the small mirror. Amazed how his fingers sank into himself, how his rim shined with the lube, how it stretched white and grew steadily more pliant around his knuckles, contracting as his fingertips angled just enough to brush lightly against his prostate. He finished himself quickly. Afterwards, with some more awkward wrist maneuvers and riding off his relaxed high, he shaved around his stretched out rim.

He was as bare as he had been before puberty. He had slept naked, enjoying the feel of his sheets against his new smooth skin, excited to see what Graves would think of him and then do to him.

—

Graves didn’t move to touch him. He sat back, not giving anything away as he looked Credence over. Credence’s cock twitched, cum leaking out of him in one gorgeous thick spurt onto the carpet, avoiding Graves’ expensive slacks by barely an inch.

He wanted to ask if Graves liked him like this. If he had done a good enough job to be forgiven, which he hoped he did. His entire body was thrumming, growing tighter and tighter ready to spring into whatever direction Graves told him to go.

Graves leaned in just as Credence’s heart was about to pound its way out of his body, his face close enough to Credence’s abdomen that he could feel his breath on his skin. The act of looking down and seeing Graves below him and looking only at him was thrilling.

With the tips of his fingers, he trailed up along Credence’s thighs. They had been the easiest part to shave, Credence unrelenting in his determination in getting every single hair, leaving only long pale legs that felt lovely to rub together and touch even for him, for Graves to do as he pleased and he did seem pleased with both of his hands gripping and squeezing the meatiest part of his thighs, leaning in and kissing his leg chastely—

Credence shook. He was horribly jealous then, for his thigh to receive a kiss when he had never had one, never felt Graves’ lips on his own. But the sweet kiss turned into a wet open mouth, harsh sucking and biting, the squelching sounds he made without an ounce of shame reverberated bodily in Credence. 

When Graves pulled away there was an oblong bruised bite mark. Graves’ mouth and chin were slick, glistening in the light. His hair had come undone slightly, a few stray strand fell along his forehead making him impossibly handsome. Graves leaned in again and did the same to his other leg and Credence was left with twin bruises, both pulsing in identical pain, framing his swollen cock, which leaked constantly onto the floor.

—

Graves wasn’t indifferent anymore. Not frowning, not smiling, but curious, as though he didn’t think Credence would do it. As though such a small thing could compare to what else Graves had had him do in the short time he’d been working there. 

The nerves Credence had felt yesterday were alien to him now. Shaving himself? Thinking back on it, it was as easy and came as naturally to him as breathing.

Graves was only slightly more gentle when he cupped Credence’s balls in his palm, rolling them and squeezing them. Examining the hairless smooth skin. It was a detached but curious touch and reminded Credence of getting a check up at the doctor’s, making him shiver.

Graves none to gently pinched the thin skin just on the bottom of his sack. Credence cried out, but still had the mind to not move away, to keep standing right where he was for Graves, his thighs shaking as Graves slowly let go to rub at the sore spot.

“Do you enjoy being unmanned like this?” Graves said. “No nodding. Yes or no.”

Old shame crawled its way up and peered out the forefront of his mind, finding only pleasure at its appearance and the suggestion. 

“Yes, Mr. Graves.”

Graves’ hand shifted from its hold on Credence’s balls and moved up, ignoring Credence’s cock—he twitched again at being dismissed so easily and more semen gushed from him in one long lengthy, pearly string, dribbling onto the rug, the puddle of cum had grown absurdly big between them, making an absolute mess. He ran his hand along the smooth expanse where Credence’s pubic hair had been, his large, work hardened hand cupped the slight mound.

It was hard to keep quiet then as Graves’ touch was oddly intimate and Credence wanted to reach down and cover his hand with his own.

“This is going to itch like hell. Maybe I should call Picquery’s doctor, schedule an appointment for permanent removal. You’d like that, wouldn’t you.” Graves said more to himself and Credence could only nod. If he tried to say anything it would be turned into a pitiful whine, unrecognizable from some beastly thing in heat.

“I was prepared to do something awful when you finally showed. You got me all worked up, sweetheart.” Graves sighed and mouthed where his hand had been, the stubble of his chin and neck scraping wetly along the side of Credence’s dick. “You’ve been so good though.”

Graves’ eyes were warm honey brown. He circled his hand loosely around Credence’s cock, jacking him a few times before stilling. There was no time for Credence to prepare for that hand or those fingers, calloused and knowing as they were. He was looking up at him expectantly as if to say _well? go on then, don’t make me wait_. 

With his pants snug around his hips, Credence could only widen his stance so much to find that balance to thrust himself into Graves’ waiting fist. Graves tightened his grip as Credence pulled back, hand dripping in his cum, squelching horribly in the quiet office. He clenched his eyes shut and holding onto his shirt in a near seam tearing grip, the only bit of stability he could grasp when bright sparks ignited. Lasting only a few more, measly, noisy jerks of his hips before his body drew up tightly together and he was coming thickly—

Graves positioned his cock downwards. Credence’s eyes snapped open when he felt the cold rim of glass to see himself spurting hotly into the untouched whiskey. 

He could no longer keep quiet. Soft, painful whimpers dragged out of him, escaping his lips as his mouth hung open, gasping for air as Graves milked him dry, balls heaving empty and his dick intolerably sensitive while Graves continued to jack him well passed when the good had turned into the painful.

He did not let Credence go as he softened. Graves tilted the glass, amber gold swirling with creamy white. He drank half of it, holding the glass to his lips as he paused with his eyes slipping shut to seemingly savor the taste. His lashes were dark, fanning out prettily along his sharp cheeks. Credence unabashedly watched him, groaning at the sound of him swallowing.

He lifted the drink to Credence’s lips, waiting for him to take the glass and when he did Graves slid his hand in-between Credence’s thighs, fondling his balls and then with no hesitation and with precision, pressed against Credence’s taint to rub at his prostate.

“Don’t drop it, it’d be such a waste. That whiskey is more than fifty years old.” Graves said. 

Credence nearly did just that. Red faced and sweaty and already completely hard again, needy now in a different way as Graves kept rubbing close but not close enough to where Credence had nearly buried his entire fist last night, he drank what was left. Letting it sit on his tongue just like Graves had done. Tasting a sweetness like toffee and the thick saltiness of his own semen, the combined texture unpleasant, but not that bad. Having Graves watching him so keenly spurred Credence on to swallow it and lick his lips afterwards.

Graves stood. There was no space between them. Credence’s prick rubbed against Graves’ slacks, the fine fabric feeling like everything wonderful. Graves crowded against him more, holding Credence by his chin, his hand covered in Credence’s wet cum. To kiss him, maybe. Credence hoped. His heart jumped happily inside him.

But no, Graves pushed a finger into Credence’s mouth, then two. Credence sucked and licked at them, cleaning what he could. He scraped his teeth along his knuckles, a playful bite he knew Graves liked.

Graves pulled out.

 “Was that good, sweetheart?” Graves said.

Credence was breathless. “The best, sir. Thank you.” 

—

What Credence wanted to be told was to get on his knees and to clean the mess he made on the rug with only his tongue. He would have done it and licked Graves shoes to a glistening shine too while he was down there. Happily. Eagerly. No question about it. All Graves had to do was nod his head and he’d break his knees to get there.

Graves didn’t, though. 

He cleaned his hand with his handkerchief, which he tucked back into his pocket, and combed his hair back into place with one perfected swipe. The tent in his slacks was lewd in contrast with his put together and unmoved appearance.

“Get my briefcase,” said Graves. 

Hurriedly, Credence righted himself, not bothering to tuck his shirt in. He retrieved Graves’ briefcase from the chaise near the door, setting it on his desk away from the spilled whiskey.

Graves rummaged through it for a moment and pulled out a white box and handed it to Credence. It was a new cellphone.

“I already put my number in it. You don’t have to pay me back. It’s a work expense.”

Credence stared at it in disbelief. This was too much. 

“How did you—?” 

“I won’t have my PA using a flip phone. Merely a coincidence.”

Graves smiled, it laid awkwardly on his face as a slight upturn to his severity and was the more endearing for how sincere it was.

Credence held it to his chest and with some horror realized his eyes had grown a bit watery. Gifts, work related or not, were a new experience for him. He did not know how to react as a person used to such things, his emotions manning the wheel for him.

Credence wiped at his eyes, blinking away the tears in what he hoped was a somewhat subtle way. 

Awkwardly, Graves cleared his throat. Rifled through his pants’ pocket for his wallet to give Credence time to pull himself together. He handed Credence his black credit card who took it in trembling fingers.

“I have to head out for an early lunch. Picquery cornered me in the elevator this morning.” Graves said with an annoyed twitch of his bushy brows. “I want you to go get yourself something to eat.”

Credence was about to argue. He had brought a lunch with him. But the expression on Graves’ face, awkward and trying to be nice, told him to accept the gift.

“Thank you, for all of this.” Credence said. He held the card delicately. Just knowing it held more money than Credence could imagine caused a small terror inside of him. 

Graves nodded, looking uncomfortable. He slipped his wallet back into his pocket and then went to put his coat on.

“Call a cleaner for the rug,” he said gruffly. He paused with his hand on the doorknob then turned, briskly making his way back to Credence. 

Graves grabbed Credence’s hand and kissed his knuckles. Credence froze, but his hand began to tremble. Graves lingered, opened his mouth and bit hard making Credence moan and twitch.

Graves let go of him and without a look back, stormed out of his office.

Credence stared at his hand, flexing and stretching out his fingers, there on the thin skin around his knuckles was a red bite mark, stinging and wet.

Alone and with the blinds shut, Credence pressed his lips to Graves’ bite.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Afterthoughts: 
> 
> \- MACUSA have their very own building  
> \- Credence definitely uses a backpack, is a two straps kind of guy  
> \- Graves is a dick, but Credence is really into dicks so it works out  
> \- What is Graves’ job? Being rich and glaring at underlings in an effective business/profit positive manner that guarantees him a gross amount of money, promotions, and access to eager pretty boy ass  
> \- whiskey + semen = Graves’ favorite drink (???)  
> \- biting = love  
>    
> [tumblr ](http://granpappy-winchester.tumblr.com)


End file.
